


His Calling

by Masque_de_Non



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bestiality, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-31 02:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15109991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masque_de_Non/pseuds/Masque_de_Non
Summary: The young captured prince learns his new purpose in life.





	His Calling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BiffElderberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiffElderberry/gifts).



The sounds of battle—screams and clashing of swords—have faded. Anwyl kneels on the floor of the Great Hall, two soldiers standing beside him, holding him there.

The great hall is ransacked, the table overturned and precious relics strewn across the floor. The tapestry that normally hung behind the throne has been torn down and burnt, only a few charred fragments of the delicately embroidered cloth remaining. 

Anwyl had been hidden away in an alcove by the servants when the invading men breached the walls, crouched behind his bed clutching a dagger in shaking inexperienced hands. He fully expected to feel the sting of a sword in his gut when he lashed out desperately at the men who exposed his hiding spot but instead he was wrestled to the ground and dragged down to the hall, where he kneels now before the mad tyrant Cadell, who is pacing in front of him, swinging his bloody sword idly. 

"So this is the great king Teldri's son? The one that's been hidden away all this time? I can see why he didn't want you out in public, you're not much to look at."

Anwyl feels shame wash over him, in a way he's never felt before. No-one has ever said anything bad about him not learning to fight; his talents lie elsewhere, as his father said. And besides, his father couldn't bear losing another loved one after Anwyl's mother died.

"18 and I don’t think you’ve even starting courting yet, have you?"

Anwyl says nothing and stared down at the floor, his face flushed hot, until one of the man beside him cuffs him suddenly over the head.

"Answer Lord Cadell!" he barks.

"Yes, I—No, my father said he would arrange a marriage when it was time," Anwyl stutters.

Cadell laughs. "As incompetent as ever. Hiding away his only son until he was as weak as a baby. But he has paid for his mistakes now." Cadell smile grows when Anwyl looks up at this. "Yes, he died in battle. Slain by an arrow in his throat, not even one of mine. And his men that survived will be executed or sold into slavery."

The revelation sinks in him like a weighted stone. He'd suspected it of course, but now he knows that he is all alone. He takes a shaky breath, then meets Cadell’s eyes and speaks in a voice that almost doesn’t tremor, "Then I shall join him soon."

"Oh no," says Cadell, stepping closer, gloved hand touching Anwyl’s cheek. "That would be far too easy. You’re going to become something useful for once in your spoiled life."

Anwyl holds himself absolutely still in Cadell's grip, focusing on the bridge of the man's nose instead of his piercing eyes.

Cadell continues talking. "You see, our hounds get very rowdy and out of control out of battle. The occasional fight and hunt isn't enough for them to exhaust their energy. We need someone to help keep them calm."

He shakes Anwyl's head lightly. 

"I don't understand," says Anwyl. "You want me to train them?"

Cadell strokes Anwyl's jaw, eyes darting over his face. "No, they're going to train you. You'll be their toy, their slave. You know what I mean?"

Anwyl's mouth feels dry—he tries to swallow, throat sticking. "W-what—?"

Cadell pushes Anwyl's head away, face distorted in irritation. "They're going to fuck you, you simpleton."

Anwyl is cold, like all the blood had rushed out of him. He can't speak. And then he hears the clicking of claws against stone: soldiers are leading in a pack of what must be a dozen hounds, huge and hulking. He tries to break free of the hold on him—with the useless thought that if he just had a sword—but they drag him to the center of the room. Behind Cadell is a bench-like structure; he didn't pay any attention to it before but the height and straps around it … it can only be for one purpose.

He cries and pleads while they strip his clothes and roughly lay him on the bench and strap him to it, even though he knows it's pointless, that men like this have no mercy.

"Don't worry," says Cadell in a mock soothing tone. "You'll surely enjoy it."

"Please, please, please," Anwyl gasps again and again. 

He pulls at the straps—his body is stretched out over the wood, hands and feet tied to the legs of the bench. He tries pulling his legs closed but he's spread too widely. The edge of the wooden bench is cut out beneath his crotch, so that his prick hangs down below him.

Cadell walks around the bench, and Anwyl hides his face in the rough grain of the wood, clenching his fists as he tries in vain to cover himself up. Like this, he's sure everything is on display.

"I think we'll start with Dywyl," says Cadell, and he gestures at one of his men, who starts leading over a lean dog with black fur. 

The dog strains against its leash, choking itself on its collar, tongue hanging out. It comes over and starts immediately licking him on the neck and face as he cringes away.

"See!" Cadell crows while laughing. "He likes you already."

"Stop," Anwyl pleads, as the dog ducks its head, tongue rasping eagerly over his face and neck.

Then the dog is pulled back suddenly as the man jerks the leash, directing it behind Anwyl. A wet nose sniffs his backside, and then he feels a long tongue lick him directly on his hole. He jumps, a squeak coming from behind clenched teeth that make the onlookers laugh. 

The dog licks him with enthusiasm, slobbering all over his backside, drool dripping down his thighs. Its tongue is long, licking from underneath his balls all the way up to his tailbone. Sometimes its tongue curls and pushes _inside_ just the tiniest bit.

It's the first sexual touch he's ever experienced. He's always been good, only guiltily touching himself when he's left alone at night, which isn't often. His ever present entourage of servants and guards have kept him away from making any contacts with people his own age. He trusted that he would be ready when his father decided it was time, that he would experience love-making in the solemn, special way that it should be.

This is nothing like what he'd imagined. He is naked and bound in front of jeering strangers. It's wet and disgusting, and stinks of dog's breath. He flinches every time the dog's tongue laves over his skin, his body shaking as he takes shallow, panicked breaths.

Anwyl's hole keeps twitching; it feels so sensitive, and he knows that nobody, not even himself, is meant to touch him there. It's—it's disgusting and dirty, but the dog doesn't seem to know that. It keeps licking him, like it's trying to dig inside of him, until his hole feels tender and soft.

Anwyl's teeth are clenched for a different reason now. He grinds them together as he tries to keep himself quiet, because it feels, oh gods, it feels _good_ now. Things are tightening low in his belly, and even though his prick hasn't even been touched, it feels like the sensitive skin around and inside his hole is connected directly to it, sending pleasure shooting through him.

He flushes with sick shame as he felt his prick slowly hardening, despite his best attempts to will it down. Then a boot taps his dick lightly on the head, making him gasp.

"It feels good, ey?" says Cadell, standing beside Anwyl and surveying him. "I thought so. This is your calling. You're meant to get off on a dog's tongue."

Tears prick behind Anwyl's clenched eyelids. The edge of the dog's tongue slip inside his hole and he whimpers, legs shifting to spread more despite himself.

"He's showing red now," Cadell observes in a casual tone. "He's so eager to get in your tight ass."

He can't stop tears from slipping down his cheeks, and he says, in a shaking voice, "Please, please don't. I'll do anything."

Cadell ruffles Anwyl's hair, ignoring his tears. "This is what you're made for," he says gently. And he walks off to sit in Anwyl's father's throne, lounging with his legs spread as he watches the show. 

Anwyl can't keep quiet anymore. He can hear himself sniffling, blubbering like a baby. Some of the men watching start laughing, but thankfully he can't see anything through the blur of tears. The dog pauses in its attentions and moves to his front, licking away his tears while whining like it's crying too.

It's actually almost comforting. The dog isn't doing this to hurt Anwyl. It's just a poor animal, being used for Cadell's own ends just like Anwyl. It doesn't know what it's doing. 

Then it licks him one more time and moves away. But Anwyl doesn't feel a tongue on his asshole. Instead, a wiry furry body falls on his back as the dog hunches over him, hips thrusting wildly. Anwyl can feel something long and slippery sliding against his thighs and backside, and he freezes because that can't possibly be what he's thinking.

Something stabs him in his balls and he flinches. It does it again, the dog searching for an opening, and it feels so solid and rigid—it can't possibly fit.

Then the tip snags on his hole and it's in. Anwyl screams. The dog isn't gentle at all—it forces its cock inside him in one violent thrust, opening up his tight channel, scraping against his sensitive walls, burning, _burning_ —

Anwyl thinks that's all of it, but then it pulls back and thrusts again, even deeper, pain lighting up in places Anwyl had never known. It opens him up in short violent thrusts that feel like fire inside, until finally he feels fur flush with his backside, and something heavy slaps against him that must be the dog's balls.

Anwyl coughs, choking on bile. His prick is flaccid now, shocked out of arousal by the pain shooting up his spine. He can hear the dog panting in his ear, as it fucks him faster that he thought possible, pumping in and out so fast his hole burns from the friction.

He can't get away, has to lie there limply, chest rubbing painfully against the wood as his body is jerked by the powerful thrusts. He feels like a plaything for the dog—like a blanket it would hump—as he's trapped under the heavy body as the dog uses him. It feels like it goes on forever. The initial stabbing pain has faded a little, just the burn remaining as his hole is continually forced to open for something it was never meant to accommodate. He just has to take it.

The slide in feels easier now, _wet_ , but not with blood. He hopes that means the dog is going to finish soon. His soft prick bounces against his belly uselessly, the dog having no concern for Anwyl's pleasure. He lies there and waits for it to be over.

The slide in feels easier now. Every time the dog thrusts his cock all the way in Anwyl hears a squelch of liquid. His back is streaming with sweat from the furry body draped over him. And then it starts to feel tighter. The dog's cock isn't going in so easy now. Something is swelling, forcing Anwyl's hole open even more.

The next time its thick cock thrusts into his hole it won't all fit back in. The dog snaps its hips with each unsuccessful thrust, its claw scratching on the floor as it slams its cock into Anwyl, battering his hole. Anwyl can't make sense of what is happening; it feels like a ball is swelling at the base of the dog's cock, and that can't be right. He cries out each time it smashes unsuccessfully at his hole. How much bigger is it going to get, it won't _fit_ —

Somehow it's forced inside, Anwyl's rim stretching around the mass, and he lets out a high pitched scream as the knot lodges just inside him. The dog keeps trying to hump but it's stuck tight—all its thrusts do is pull at the painful bruised skin of his hole.

The ball is wedged right against some sensitive part inside Anwyl that he's never felt before, making his muscles clench from the intensity. He starts to sob, terrified that this dog will be stuck in him forever.

There's the lone sound of clapping—Anwyl can't see who it is, face screwed up and covered in tears to see anything properly—and then footsteps walking up to him.

"Would you look at that," he hears Cadell's voice behind him. "Knotted on his first turn."

"Get it out of me, please," Anwyl sobs.

Fingers tenderly brush away the tears from his face. "No, Dywyl will be locked in for a while. Can you feel it? Like a pulse. Do you know what that is?"

Anwyl looks up at Cadell, at the faux-sympathetic frown on his face. He swallows but can't say anything.

"That's him pumping come into you. He's gonna fill you up with so much you could fill a whole jug with it, try to get you pregnant."

Anwyl screws up his eyes, a fresh wave of tears overwhelming him. He can feel it: a rhythmic throbbing inside his passage, like a heart-beat. He thinks he's going to throw up again but when he retches nothing comes up. 

The dog moves suddenly and the pain inside his stretched-out hole reaches a crescendo as it turns around, stepping over his body until it's facing away from him. The dog's tail brushes across his back as it wags. They're stuck there, dog and man, attached at the ass. 

Cadell's soldier laugh and cheer. He hears someone remarking on how they've seen the true _Beast with two backs_ and he burns from the humiliation.

Eventually he exhausts himself of all his tears and lies there limply. He can still feel that pulse inside him and he unconsciously matches his breathing to it, body relaxing. His muscles inside are still sore but the pain has died down.

He's almost dozing off when he feels a tug at his hole. His body tenses up from the pain and he clenches his hole, tries to hold the dog still, but it keeps pulling, painfully stretching his hole around the still thick cock inside him. One last forceful tug frees the dog and its cock slides out, leaving Anwyl's passage stinging with pain.

He can feel liquid leaking from his hole. His face flushes red and he tries to clench his hole but there's too much, he can feel it dribbling down his thighs.

He rests his cheek against the wood and closes his eyes, trying to pretend there's not an audience for his humiliation, wishing this was all a dream, that he was dead.

He doesn't even have the strength to flinch away when he feels a hand caress his hair, before tracing down his back. It slaps him on the rear, making him jump and a large blurt of come escape his hole.

"Looks like you took it well," says Cadell, spreading Anwyl's ass cheeks wide. "No tearing. Are you sure you're not a virgin?"

Anwyl doesn't answer and Cadell slaps him on the ass again. "No dozing! You think that's the end? There's eight more dogs raring to get their dicks wet!"

That stirs Anwyl from his daze. He tilts his head to the side, trying to catch Cadell's eyes. "No more," he begs in a raspy voice. "I've learnt my lesson. I submit, please—"

"The lesson is that you are these dogs' fuck toy, and you will not complain or resist. Your only duty is to take their cocks whenever they want it."

Cadell whistles and another dog runs over eagerly.

It doesn't even spare any time before jumping straight on Anwyl's back. Anwyl shakes his head, moaning protests softly. The dog's fur is soft and warm against Anwyl's sweaty skin, and it enthusiastically licks Anwyl's neck and face, panting into his ear. It rabbits its hips, and Anwyl can feel its slick cock sliding between his crotch, rubbing against his balls and prick. It ruts against him for a while, before readjusting and hitting true.

The dog fucks him mercilessly. Anwyl is exhausted and can't tense his muscles, so the entire length slams in all the way. Amazingly, it barely hurts at all. The come from the last dog is still in there, lubricating the dog's thrust, wet sloppy sounds coming each time. Anwyl can't move at all, he just lies there, completely exhausted, and hopes the dog will be finished soon. 

This dog fucks differently from the first one--it's faster and more impatient, constantly shifting position and pulling its body closer with its paws. The cock feels thinner, or Anwyl is just used to it, either way, the muscles in his passage feel sore but not stinging with pain.

After a while, Anwyl realizes there's a spot inside him that feels better than everything else. He squirms at the friction every time the dog's cock brushes against that spot, his prick growing hard. There's nothing he can do to stop it, his arousal growing with every brutal fuck inside him. 

The breath is getting knocked out of him each time the dog slams the expanding ball into him, puffs of air through his nose that he hopes no-one will notice. He's getting close, but it's nothing like those times he furtively touched himself underneath bed sheets, it feels so much more intense and real and more.

The ball feels as big as a woman's fist now, and it's pressing against his walls, filling up the space until the skin is stretched as thin as tissue paper. With one last rough thrust, the dog slams its knot in, slotting in like it was meant to fit there. The inflated ball is pressed right up against that spot, he can feel a pulsing of a vein tapping against it, and he can't take it anymore. He clenches around it, his eyes roll back, and his hips stutter as pleasure explodes in him and his prick shoots come. 

He can hear himself gasping, but nothing else matters except squeezing that cock inside him for more pleasure. The glow fades with the last spurt of come—that long length inside him is a comforting pressure, but he's left with sick humiliation.

"Oh, good boy," says Cadell, and Anwyl looks up to see him sprawled on the throne, squeezing his hard prick through his trousers. "You came just on the knot. I didn't expect you to get to that stage that so quickly, but you've surpassed my expectations."

Cadell licks his lips and Anwyl looks away, his face feeling hot. But his eyes alight on the watching enemy soldiers, and he notices with shock that some of them have their pricks out. He's too startled to look away, and as he stares, one of the men jacking himself at an almost painful-looking speed groans and splashes come onto the floor.

Anwyl hurriedly lowers his eyes but now all he can hear is the slick _slap-slap-slap_ and sighs of men jerking off, getting their pleasure from the sight of the crown prince getting fucked by a dog.

The cock in him is tugged back suddenly and he cries out as the dog turns around until they are ass-to-ass again. He can feel hot come being pumped into him, and his insides feel stretched and sloppy. He's in for another long wait.

He tries to quieten his racing thoughts but he can't stop the self-hating thoughts going round and round. How could he have gotten pleasure from such an awful thing? As much as he wants to believe that it's normal, that it's just because this is the first time he's felt a touch that wasn't himself, he can't. It's a sick person that gets pleasure from lying with an animal.

The dog eventually pulls away from him but that isn't the end. The entire pack of dogs is going to have a go at Anwyl. His hole is so sensitive by now that he can feel every minute difference. This one has a long thin cock and reaches deeper than he's ever felt. That one has a thick veiny cock that massages that spot inside him so good. Another one is impatient and young, rabbiting its hips inside Anwyl so violently that the skin on his ass feels sore from the friction. One of them keeps fucking through the knotting, until Anwyl is begging for it stop. 

He comes at least three more times, his body wrung of pleasure. He's barely aware of his surroundings anymore; the only thing he can pay attention to are the endless burning hot shafts thrusting inside him and making his body sing with pleasure he's never felt before.

And then it's the turn of the last dog. Anwyl moans as Cadell cups his jaw, turns his face up.

"This one's a beauty, young prince. We've saved the best for last. Nothing will satisfy you once you've felt this beast."

The dog steps up. It's huge, standing at least a head taller than the other dogs, with a thick powerful body. Its gray fur gleams almost silver in the light. Anwyl's eyes drop down below its belly and his breath stops at the sight of the giant cock hanging freely. It looks bigger than any of the other dogs, as thick as his wrist and as long as his forearm. He trembles and tries to plead with Cadell, but his throat is destroyed and only broken whispers come out.

He's going to die, he's sure of it.

"His name's Belau," says Cadell, and walks back to the throne.

Belau moves closer, sniffing Anwyl's face. Anwyl holds absolutely still, not even breathing. When the dog steps away he lets out all the air he's been holding in an explosive rush. He feels the dog behind him and Belau spares his wrecked hole one long lick. Then the dog is on top of him. It doesn't even need to jump up, so tall that it can stand normally. Its cock slaps from his lower back, down his crack, and then underneath, brushing against his balls and limp dick.

It doesn't do anything immediately, just stands still. Anwyl's shaking increases and then it licks him under his ear, making him jump. But nothing happens and slowly Anwyl's tense muscles begin to relax. 

Then the beast rocks its hips, cock sliding amongst the slimy mess in Anwyl's crack and brushing against his soft, open hole. Another pass, not quite entering, and it feels good, like Belau is letting him get used to the weightiness of its cock. Then its hips snap back and it plunges inside in one clean thrust.

Anwyl's mouth opens in a silent scream. The cock forces its way into his channel, far too big, stretching worn-out muscles in an effort to rearrange his insides. He can feel the entirety of its cock: the spear-like pointed head, the bumps and veins along the shaft, the fur at the base of its cock. It's relentless, not giving him any respite. When it's all the way in it starts pulling back out, and the skin inside Anwyl's channel clings to the invading length as if it wants it to never leave.

He lets out a groan as it pulls out, his insides so sensitive that he feels somehow empty, and then shrieks when it snaps its hips and ruts all the way back in. Sounds are coming from him without Anwyl fully aware of making them, quiet "uh, uh, uh"s every time the dog fucks its cock into him. Each thrust is wet and sloppy, and he can feel a stream of liquid dripping down his balls and his cock, the gallons of come from the previous dogs escaping, his muscles unable to hold anything in against that monster cock.

Anwyl's prick is limp, and shrunken from all the orgasms, but he barely pays that any thought. His channel is being lit up with molten hot pleasure, nerves firing and blanking out every conscious thought. It feels like he's being massaged from the inside, that long bumpy beastly cock pressing on pleasure points he'd never knew existed. 

The dog slams its cock into him with force, its balls bouncing against Anwyl's ass, without any care for the body it's fucking into, because that's all Anwyl is, a convenient hole, a bitch to take this beast's breeding, to take its come and puppies and—

Anwyl's voice rises when he feels the dog's knot start to swell. He can't take it, but somehow, somehow he is, his body opening up and welcoming the huge bulge. It swells up and squeezes that spot inside him, and then he's coming, shaking and trembling in orgasm, paltry pearls of come forced from his flaccid prick. A thick vein on its knot pulses against his walls, and it's like nothing he's ever felt before, multiple orgasms ravaging his body as the dog locks in and empties its load of come into his wrecked body.

He's insensate, collapsed on the bench while his mouth opens and closes, pleasure ripping through his trembling body. He has no idea how long the knotting lasts, unable to register anything except the warm body above him, and the hot cock spearing him open.

He isn't ready when Belau finally tears its cock free. He whines and tries to clench his channel to keep it in, but his muscles won't obey him anymore. The dog pulls its cock out, come gushing out of Anwyl, his hole weakly twitching and remaining stretched open. Belau licks up the excess come, its tongue easily slipping inside Anwyl's gaping entrance and sparking little electric shocks of pleasure that make him gasp.

The dog finally stops, claws clicking on the floor as it leaves. Anwyl groans, his head ringing, but he notices when Cadell squats down next to his head. 

"I've never seen Belau treat a bitch so tenderly. The whole pack took a shine to you. You're their bitch now. Come now, no crying. I was going to execute you like your father but sometimes mercy is the better option. It'll be a good life, with many masters to serve and as much pleasure as your body can take. Say thank you for having your life spared."

Anwyl gapes at the man, but the hard glint in those eyes freezes the blood in his veins. He swallows and, thinking of the terrifying pleasure from the dogs and Belau, rasps out, "Thank you."

Cadell pats him on the shoulders and stands up.

"Good bitch," he says.


End file.
